Love & Bullets
by MissScorp
Summary: Dick Grayson's life has not been a bed of roses. The seventeen years since his parent's tragic deaths has been one long and continuous road bathed in bullets and blood. But through it all there's always been one person standing at his side, supporting him and loving him no matter what. T for violence, mild swearing/suggestive language.
1. Picture it

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but for the general concept of my story and theme...

* * *

_There was a girl who loved a boy so much she said to the boy, "If I told you that I liked you, would you take it as a joke?"_ _The boy said, "Yes I would."_ _She asked, "Why?"_ _The boy replied, "Because I know you don't like me, I know you love me!" (credit goes too: rishikajain-dot-com)_

* * *

_Chicago, in the present._

Oh, these assholes don't stand a chance.

And that is a serious understatement. I only gotta take one look at that alabaster face to see just how up the creek they are. Man, there is nothing quite like Raya Kean in full on pissed off mode. She tends to go a bit nuts whenever a member of the Batclan is in trouble. Oh, just let one of us get injured. That's when the real fun begins. See, Rae doesn't sit back and wring her hands with worry, or merely storm about ranting and raving about things. Oh no. Not _my_ Rae. No, she tends to go into predator mode whenever a member of her family is being threatened by a band of hyenas. Raya might look like a sleek little black alley cat, but trust me, she fights like an Amazonian ocelot.

I hear garbage can lids clang together like cymbals. Only, it's a dull, tinny sound rather than a steel intoned melodic one. Means someone's skull just got caught between those lids. I glance over in time to see one of the goons holding his ears and yowling at the top of his lungs. He's about to get a knee to the face that will shut him up right quickly enough. Er well, he was about to get a knee to the face until a double-fisted blow to Raya's back staggers her, drops her down to her knees. The behemoth standing over her delivers a sharp kick to her lower back that has my teeth gnashing, and blood pumping.

Despite the armor and bulletproof fibers of her suit, I know Raya's ribs, back and shoulders are feeling the effects of those blows. And fury fills me because I know bruises are already creeping over that creamy flesh. I try to stand, but my leg absolutely refuses to support my weight. I'm beginning to fear that it's broken. And that frustrates me because I cannot help her should she find herself in a tight spot. Though, I really shouldn't worry about her staying down for long. See, the other thing about my Raya? She's no dummy. And she never comes to a fight unprepared.

From a specialized packet built into her left armored glove she releases a cloud of some kind of mist, an anesthetic I'm assuming. It's definitely something new to her arsenal. The mist hits the hulking bear in the face when he bent to grab hold of her, but it does little more than surprise him. Until he begins to sway with the toxin's powerful sleep inducing effect. She cracks him over the head with one of the garbage lids before rolling up to her feet and turning towards the remaining four thugs with those cat-like eyes flashing, and teeth barred in a feral, wordless snarl.

Speed is her greatest weapon at this point and I can see that she wields it now with finesse and grace, never staying still, or in one place long enough for the remaining thugs to get their meaty paws upon her. I cannot help the trickle of pride that fills me at seeing how far she's come as a fighter. We're definitely a long ways away from those early days of her recklessly rushing into a fight without having first fully assessed a situation. And I know that I should not be talking about her recklessly rushing into a situation when I allowed my anger and personal hatred for Tony Zucco to cause _me_ to rush into this situation. She is definitely gonna bust my balls for having walked headlong into Zucco's trap. See, the other thing about my Rae? She's not the kinda woman to ever allow an opportunity to say "I told you so," to pass.

I hear shruikens sing as they slice the air and know instantly at whom she's aiming the projectiles. It's who I would have aimed the darts at, in fact. The fugly twins drop almost as soon as the neurotoxin laced-tips puncture their fleshy jowls. A metal pipe is then scooped up in one hand and turned into a modified bo-staff, and the sound it makes as it connects with fragile bone has an echo of pain throb in my own. She's definitely not tempering her blows. Yup, she totally got _that_ from Bruce. One thug is able to finally get his arms around her. I watch as he lifts her up into a bear hug, and hear him laugh as he squeezes her. Well, he's not gonna be laughing for long. Least of all when she bashes him over the head with that steel pipe he forgot about her still holding in one hand. Yea buddy, steel don't feel so good when it gets knocked upside the ole noggin', huh?

As much as I hate to acknowledge this, I know this little hellcat will willingly lay her life down in order to save mine. And I know this because it's what I'd do for her. See, that's the type of people that Raya and I are. But with us it goes much deeper than that. Raya and I have been friends for _seventeen_ years. When I tell people that this woman knows me the best, it's no bullshit lie. Raya has seen me at my very best, and been at my side through the very worst. Same as I have been there for her. We'll always be there for each other, in fact. Because at the end of the day, that's all we have..._each other. See, _I never have to doubt or question her loyalty. With Rae? It's more like a religion. I know that she'll always have my back. Even in those instances where I've been in the wrong, she's still stood beside me. It never ceases to amaze me how she routinely takes my side over Bruce's. Pisses Bruce off when she does, too. But it's not like I _ask_ Raya to take my side over his. Most often, I tell her to stay out of my squabbles with Bruce. Does she? Of course not. Because that's not Raya's way. And I love her all the more because it's _not_ her way. And I gotta admit... it's pretty awesome to watch her go a verbal round with the iron-willed Batman.

I can feel my split lips beginning to crook upwards, but what might have been a smile quickly becomes a grimace as another bolt of misery shoots up my leg. Yeah, those breathing techniques that Bruce taught me in order to control pain? They only work for as long as my brain decides that my body is mistaken about the amount of damage it's sustained. I know that the next few days are gonna be a study in sheer misery. Maybe I will play up my injuries just a teensy bit. Really make her think I am hurt worse than I am so that she'll fuss over me.

Yes, I am evil like that.

And no, I'm not gonna apologize for it.

Once the final thug is down on the pavement, Raya all but flies over to where I am half-sitting, half-leaning against the side of the building.

"Oh God, my God, you've been stabbed."

"Just a scratch." I can't resist teasing her by saying; "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Rae."

She blinked; frowned.

"If I wanted to be rid of you bird boy," she grumbled. "I would simply stop coming around." But her hand swept over my cheek for just an instant, like the flutter of wings. "Let me see how bad it is, okay?"

"You just wanna get your hands on my body," I say cheekily. "Admit it."

She harrumphs. And then rolls her eyes. Ruffling her feathers is, I must admit, one of my favorite hobbies. I've only been doing it since we were ten after all. And I am much better at it now than I was back then. And soothing those feathers? Is almost more fun than ruffling them. _Almost_.

"Could you be serious here, _please_?" she says on a disgruntled sigh.

"Fine," I say before I roll my eyes and huff; "Killjoy."

"I'm just being sensible," she retorted as she began a cursory examination of my injuries. "One of us has to be. And considering that _you've_ got the bloody gash in your shoulder and the leg that won't hold your weight..."

"Is that a veiled _I-told-you-so,_ Rae?" I ask in a dry tone.

Her knowledgeable fingers probe at my damaged leg gently. "Of course not," more probing. "Far be it for me to lecture you about allowing clouded emotions to make you reckless and irresponsible." She glanced up at my sigh; smiled slightly. "You earned that, Dick."

I let it pass. "How bad is it?"

"You may have a pulled muscle in your thigh," she says. "Might have sprained your knee. But I don't think anything is broken. Thank God."

"But you are still gonna take an MRI to be sure."

"Of course," she smiles and brushes a kiss to my forehead. "I'm a worry wart, remember?"

"There's an understatement," I say on a sigh.

She snorts, but turns her attention to my shoulder. The wound was raw and angry and oozing blood still. I'll never admit that the pain was like hot teeth gnawing at my flesh. But I know it's bad. Even though her voice is absolutely calm when she says; "I'm going to clean this with one of my antiseptic wipes so I can better see the extent of the damage," I know the wound is bad.

"And here I was hoping you were gonna tear me a bandage outta that black silk cami you got on beneath your top."

I see one eyebrow arch. "And how do you know about the black silk cami that I am wearing under my top?"

I can feel my grin stretching the small rent in my lip, but the pain here is absolutely worth it. "'Cause I totally peeked while you were changing in the car."

Her lips twitch, but she doesn't make a reply. I've always talked to her in this playful, teasing, slightly flirtatious way so it's not like I've shocked her. She knows that this is just how I am. It's a reflection of the friendship that we have. But I fall quiet because whatever medicine on the cloth is soothing and her touch is gentle. But as I sit there, I watch her. And as I watch her, I start to wonder. And as I start to wonder, it begins to dawn on me that I am either the stupidest man in the entire universe, or the absolute blindest.

Why?

Because I've just realized that I'm heads over heels in love with my best friend.

And as if _that _particular revelation isn't enough to rattle me to the very core of my being? I make another, even more startling on. That I've essentially been in love with her my whole life. How could I not know that I was in love with her? you ask. Easy. I convinced myself that I only loved her as a friend. I denied it to everyone, told them that we were nothing but the best of friends, allies. But now I see that I was only lying to them, and to myself. Because the woman that I have always wanted? The woman that I have been searching my whole life for? She's the woman who has been standing beside me this entire time. I just was to blind, stubborn, or stupid (please, take your pick) too see it.

See, this is why none of my past relationships ever worked out. It wasn't because I was too busy being Robin, or Nightwing, or had a myriad of other issues going on in my life that made dating an impossibility. It wasn't just because I was too young and totally not ready to make the type of commitment necessary for a relationship to thrive. No, it's because unconsciously I was comparing all of them to _her_. And I was finding all of them lacking in one way or another. Even her own cousin fails to measure up to the standards that Raya's unconsciously set. And it's not that they were bad women (a few of them were, I admit it). Or that I didn't love them (I did in my own way). It's just they weren't _her. _

Those women weren't there through the thick and thin. They weren't the ones who were wading into the shit and literally pulling me out. Raya has walked through hell for me. And was the only one willing to step up and help me raise Damian during Bruce's absence. She also supported my decision to not take up the infamous cape and cowl of Batman. But see, she's always seen this as being part of her _job_ as my best friend. But she's more than just my best friend. She's also my partner. And I was just too stubborn, blind or stupid (again, take your pick) to see it. Until now. I open my mouth to say something. Anything.

"Raya? Will you marry me?"

But that. I totally didn't mean to blurt _that_ out. It just kinda came...popping out. I hazard a look at her face, and see she's still distracted with patching up my shoulder. Good. Means that I don't gotta think of a way to salvage this situation. It's not that I don't mean it, mind you. I _do_ want to marry her. But c'mon. Don't ya think that a girl like this deserves something better than a proposal thrown at her in some dark, dingy alley?

"But we really need to get yo…. Wait? _What_? Marry you?" Have I mentioned that I am also the unluckiest man on Earth at times? Because of course this will be the one night where the blasted woman will actually hear me blurt out something like that. But it is kinda adorable to see her mouth drop open as she goggles at me. But she recovers right quick enough. Unfortunately for me. "Have you lost your mind?" she demands.

Not the answer I'd have liked, but I did kinda just spring this on her. And for the record, Raya hates surprises. Even the surprises that end up saving her life manage to bug the shit out of her. But she is seemingly taking this one in her own stride. I mean, she hasn't shut me down faster than a hostile corporate takeover. Means I have a chance still.

"I can assure you that I haven't lost my mind."

"Well, then, on top of a badly wounded leg, a myriad of cuts and bruises, and a hole in your right shoulder," she said. "You've also got a concussion."

"I don't have a concussion, Raya."

"Then you've gone mad." She sits back on her heels and stares at me. "Because what possible reason could you have for proposing to me?"

Okay, _now _I am starting to get a little bit irritated.

"How about I love you?" I snap. "And proposed because I am in love with you and want to actually _marry_ you?"

She rolls her eyes. "Dick..."

"No, Raya," I quickly interject. _Give her room for an argument and it's over, Grayson_. "If you'll turn off that sexy little brain of yours for five seconds and listen..."

"No, you listen," she scolded. But it is lacking any substance, and the necessary heat to make it believable. Which totally means that she's struggling to find firm ground, and failing miserably. Maybe I'm not the only idiot here. "We have never even so much as gone on one date, Dick. We simply cannot jump from not-dating into getting married. It's illogical and you know it."

"We can when we've been _technically_ dating for the last fifteen years."

Raya scoffs. "That's utterly ridiculous."

"Is not, and you know it."

"Oh, yeah? Then when was our first date, bird boy?" she queried heatedly.

"Valentine's Day. Back when we were twelve," I reply without the slightest hesitation, and my confidence and certainty here catch her by surprise. And clearly have shaken her confidence. Good. More unsettled she is, more likely she'll actually listen to reason.

"And the key words there?" she snaps. "When we were _twelve_. Far to young to be dating."

"Which is why we had dinner at the Manor right before crashing in the family room and watching movies. In fact, it was after that Valentine's that we started having our nights in."

Nights in are like our _thing_. When neither of us is out on patrol, working or have other plans, we're together. Before tonight both of us just took it as the comfort and familiarity of our friendship allowing us to enjoy that kind of uncomplicated relationship. But it wasn't just the comfort and familiarity of our friendship. It was that we were dating without all the headaches and drama that came with regular dating. I know it, and she knows it. She's just being pig-headed about admitting it. Like always.

"No. No way," she was saying. "You're wrong. There's absolutely no way we've been _safe_ dating for fifteen years ..."

"To quote a certain little old Sicilian lady..." I say with a wide smile. "Picture it. Gotham..."


	2. The First Time

_Gotham City, fifteen years ago..._

"Rae, you don't think Professor Keaton was being serious about makin' us repeat the entire periodic table out loud, do ya?"

"'Fraid he was being dead serious, Dick." Came her slightly distracted reply. "Professor Keaton has made every class he's taught at the Academy recite the periodic table out loud. It's been like his final exam for the last fifty years."

"Ah, man," Dick flopped over onto his back and tossed an arm across his eyes with a loud, theatrical style groan. "Talk about totally livin' in the dark ages."

"As if knowin' the periodic table is all that bad," she commented dryly.

"It's totally pointless," he grumbled. "I mean, who really needs ta know the entire periodic table by heart? Besides like scientists and chemists?"

_And me_, the twelve year old superhero thought silently. Knowing the periodic table of elements was something Dick knew would help serve him in his role as Robin. Same as his knowing the elements of chemistry, biology, literature, mathematics, language and history. His education was something that Bruce took very, very seriously. In addition to his regular schoolwork, Bruce also gave him Robin-work. Those assignments were taken from disciplines that Bruce believed he needed a rudimentary knowledge of in order to deal with the criminal elite that Batman and Robin tended to interact with.

Everything that he learned, that he was taught, whether it was at Brentwood Academy or in the cave below, was meant to aide him in his role as Robin. But his being Robin was something that he couldn't share with anyone, even Raya. Not that he didn't think or believe that Raya would not keep his secret. There was nobody more likely to protect that he was Robin than Raya Kean-Berkeley. But Bruce had made it clear from the moment he began to train him that he could never reveal to anybody who he was behind the mask. And when he'd asked the billionaire why that was, he'd simply replied, with a hint of sorrow in his voice;

"_It's to protect the people that you care about_."

Keeping such a massive secret was not an easy task for a twelve year old. That he'd managed to do so for the last two years was a testament to his dedication to being the best Robin he could be. _But it would be nice to share the secret with someone_, he thought on a sigh.

"Well," he heard her say. "The Academy requires all us seventh graders to know the periodic table by heart or else we fail the term."

Dick pulled himself from his dark reverie and glanced over at her. She had her chemistry book open in her lap, a yellow notepad full of scribbled notes on the floor next to her and a pen stuck into the tight coil she'd wrapped her dark hair into. As if she really needed to study so hard. Things like complex chemical compounds and algorithms tended to come naturally to Raya. Dick mighta been envious of her for that raw ability if it wasn't that he knew that she'd been home schooled up until two years ago. And that science and mathematics were subjects that her grandfather-the famed Neuropsychiatrist Matthew Berkeley Sr., had strongly encouraged her to do well in.

"Yeah, well, the resta the Academy is as nutty as Professor Keaton," he stated.

Raya flashed him a cheeky grin. "It's not like ya don't have the entire periodic table of elements already memorized, Dick."

"Kinda missin' the point here, Rae," he said moodily. "It's the part about having to repeat the table _out loud_ in _front of_ our _entire_ class that I am against doing."

He knew he was playing up the sympathy card. But he really was needing the comfort and support of his best friend at that moment. Ever since Professor Keaton had gone absolutely gaga over his science project at the beginning of the term he had been hailed as a kind of scientific prodigy and given preferential attention by the aged science teacher because of it. It wasn't something that had gone over well with a good majority of their classmates. He'd been ostracized, ridiculed and tormented by a select group of the "popular crowd" for the past month and a half.

He knew she understood why getting up in front of their entire class and again showing off his intelligence was bugging him. But his only other option was to tank Professor Keaton's exam and fail the seventh grade. And they both knew that he couldn't take a dive with that big a set of consequences attached. But the alternative was more locker room brawls and sneak attacks by a group of silver spoon fed brats.

"You should tell Mr. Wayne about what's really been going on at school, Dick," she said softly. "He should know about what Tommy and his band of Merry Jock Nuts have been doing to ya after gym class."

"No."

"Dick..."

He sat up, and turned to look at her, his face cast in angry shadows. "I said no."

Raya set her textbook and notepad aside before she scooted over to him and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.

"Please tell Mr. Wayne about how Tommy and his jock nuts have been cornering you in the locker room," she begged him in a somber voice. Dick sighed and turned to rest his forehead against hers. He sorely wanted to promise her that he'd tell Bruce the truth about the fights that he'd been getting into lately. But he knew that he couldn't. Not because he was to prideful, or ashamed. It was because he felt that it was up to him to figure out how to best handle situations like this. It was part of his job as Robin to know how to handle situations like this. So he said instead;

"I'll think about it."

He felt her sigh upon his face; saw the concern that was etched in the depths of her fathomless gaze. He wanted to reassure her, to let her know that it was going to be okay, that Tommy and his jerk wads would get theirs soon enough. But he just didn't know what the right words were to say here. Nor was he going to promise her that he was going to talk with Bruce about Tommy and his friends attacking him in the locker room just to alleviate her fears and concerns. He was going to handle them _his_ way. But he did feel a slimy swirl of guilt for causing her to worry about him, and his safety.

He made to place a gentle kiss to her forehead, just a small and completely harmless gesture, but she lifted her head at the same time as he leaned forward. His lips met hers, seriously surprising them both. It was completely innocent. A total accident. But it didn't stay completely innocent for long. They came together slowly, shyly, mouths brushing, retreating, and brushing again. It was sweet and tangy, the bright beginning of heat, that slippery brink that was between childhood and adulthood. Tendrils of unfamiliar need rose within them, slightly terrifying and just a bit mystifying. Dick stared into her eyes, bright with trust and affection. But then she began giggling, great gurgling peals of laughter that caused him to start sniggering in return. Soon they were both rolling on the floor, the sounds of their laughter ringing all throughout the Manor.

* * *

She scoffs the moment that I am finished with telling her the story.

"Seriously? Us watching movies while we were doing homework and talking about the gang attacks you were receiving from Tommy and his Merry Band of Morons." Her tone drips sarcasm. "_That's_ your idea of what constitutes as our first _date_?"

I sigh. She's either completely missing the point that I was trying to make, or she's opting to take the stubborn route in order to avoid admitting I am right. Of the two options, I am figuring that number two is the right one. Why? Because her admitting that I am right also means that she has to admit she was wrong. And the one thing that my Rae hates doing is admitting when she's wrong. She's totally like Bruce in that regard. But I can be just as stubborn as the two of them. Especially when it comes to something that I believe in with every fiber of my being. And I am not only one hundred percent confident in my feelings for this mulish little she-cat, but in the fact that we belong together as well.

"It establishes a _pattern_, Rae," I say patiently. "A pattern that we've been adhering to for the last fifteen years without us ever once consciously thinking about why we have been adhering to it."

"Friends establish patterns and routines, bird brain."

I snort. "I notice that you are conveniently neglecting to mention how that was also the night where we kissed for the first time."

"Lots of friends kiss at that age." She retorts with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Hell, I've kissed you hundreds of times like that over the years. It's because we _are_ friends. It is a completely innocent and harmless display of warmth and affection."

I reach up and cup her cheek in my palm. "We're way more than friends and you know it."

She nods. "Yes, we're also partners. _Partners_," she emphasizes in a firm voice. "_Not_ lovers."

"That's not for a lack of trying on my part."

She rolls her eyes; harrumphs. "And you know why I have refused all of your charming little advances."

Oh yea, I know why she's shot me down. And it's not because I have a bit of a reputation as a womanizer. Or because she fears ending up as another notch upon what she calls my "infamous belt." She knows I don't see her as either some type of a conquest or some trophy to display on my mantle. No, her reluctance about crossing this particular boundary goes all the way back to her childhood. See, Raya is just like Bruce. She comes with a wealth of emotional baggage. And just like Bruce she tends to internalize a lot of that baggage in self-doubts and an endless amount of recriminations.

Her father and mother hurt her in ways that she has never talked about, and never honestly dealt with. And her biggest trauma comes from the night that her mother was murdered. That's the first major hurdle that I have to jump over quite honestly. Because her fears about marriage and motherhood? They're so embedded in that night. But just how far they are rooted, I don't know. She's never told me the full story of what went on the night Ellen Rae Kean-Berkeley was murdered. But I let the matter drop for now. A Chicago alley is not the place to force her into reliving the most traumatic event of her life.

"I'm not making a _charming little advance_ here, Rae," I say to her. "I'm asking you to marry me."

"In a dark and dank alley," she replies. "I mean, I'd totally expect that outta Bruce," her lips curve as she takes hold of my arm. "But I always figured you more for the whole down on one knee and ring in hand type of guy."

It's only with an extreme effort and a boatload of pain that we manage to get me up onto my feet.

"Yea, well..." I barely contain a stream of curses when white-hot pain shoots upwards from my knee. "I did not mean to blurt it out like that."

"Then let's forget that you proposed," she suggests as she slides her arm around my waist. "It's obvious that you aren't thinking clearly at the moment."

I angle my head to look at her. "I'm thinking clearly for the first time in a long time, Raya," I tell her quietly. "And what I know is that I'm in love with you, and I want to marry you. And I will do whatever I have to in order to prove that to you."

"Can we continue this discussion at home? And preferably after I stitch your shoulder and better examine your leg?" she asks.

But I can hear the uncertainty in her voice; see the flicker of it shooting through those oh so expressive eyes. Good. If she's having doubts, then it means she's not as confident as she'd like to be. And her not being confident right now is what I need in order to get her to listen to me. Seventeen years with this woman has taught me how to read the slightest shift in her body language, to see the faintest change of her facial expressions, and to hear those slight tonal alternations. And right now, she is working my every statement through that computer like mind of hers. See, she's thinking that I'm just trying to put another move on her, feed her another set of lines in order to get her in my bed. She's thinking that this is just another game. And she's partially right. This is a game. But what Raya Kean doesn't know is that I'm playing for keeps this time.

And I'll do whatever I have to in order to win.


	3. Dark Secrets

**A/N:** Just a warning that this chapter does get a bit intense in spots and that a character death is featured here. Material wise, this is still in the PG13 realm to me, but younger readers should beware.

* * *

_Wayne Manor, a week later._

She's avoiding me.

It's been seven days since I popped the question to the little she devil. No, that night was admittedly not a shining example of why I am known for my glib tongue. Even I know that I completely mishandled that proposal. And yes, if I could go back and do my proposal over, I totally would. Raya deserves the whole roses and romance and me down upon one knee with ring in hand type of marriage proposal that most girls fantasize over. I swear on my folks' graves that I will make up for my mouth's big _lets go and pop the question_ _in a dark and dirty alley _blunder just as soon as I can get the woman to stay in a room with me for more than two or three minutes at a crack. I am one hundred percent committed to having proposed to her. And I mean to marry the little hellcat just as soon as I can get her to see that this is the next logical step in our relationship.

See, I don't wanna _date _Raya. I have been dating her for fifteen years. Yes, it was an unconventional type of dating practice. And yes I know that we've missed out on what some people would call the more _fun _points of dating by engaging in such an unusual method. But honestly? What did we really miss out on? Holding hands? Cuddling on the couch? Candlelight dinners? Moonlight walks on the beach? Weekend getaways? We did do all those things. Because back then our relationship was uncomplicated and comfortable. It allowed us the freedom to partake in those kinda date-like events without the worry or demands that most couples experience. But things are about to get uncomfortable and complicated between us. We're going to be taking our relationship to some place where we've never been, that we cannot predict and which we cannot control. Sure, I know things are gonna get a little hinky from time to time. Marriage is an intricate and taxing affair. But I also know that so long as Raya and I weather whatever storms erupt together that we'll be okay. And how do I know you ask? Because we weathered the worst squall when we thought Bruce died at Darkseid's hands. And we not only survived that, but we are still together. And we're stronger, and better because of it.

Oh, just so you know? I'd so totally say all of this to that stubborn, emotionally damaged, angst driven, far too intelligent and cynical little pessimist...

... if she'd stay put long enough for me to. I think that in the seven days since I got injured that I have maybe spent a grand total of thirty-six minutes alone with the woman. And no, that's not normal for us. Even when Raya and I are apart, we are still together. So the fact that she's been staying in the same house as me, but completely avoiding being anywhere near me can only mean one thing: she's scared shitless.

Good.

Means she'll be coming to see me soon. If there's one thing I can count on with her, it's that she cannot leave a situation like this between us. It's not our way to avoid talking about something that the other has said or done and which is bothering us.

"Dick?"

And right on cue. I look up from the magazine I've been thumbing through to see her standing in the doorway. The dark smudges beneath her eyes say she's not been sleeping. But it's what I see swirling in that verdant gaze, on her face that has my heart snag on a beat and my belly cramping. Her mask has completely crumbled. Her face is naked and raw and so achingly vulnerable that it hurts worse than anything I have felt before. Every single emotion she is feeling was openly visible to me. I saw guilt and relief, anger and shame, disgust and sadness, love and happiness. But what shakes me to the core of my being is the _fear. _It is so profound that it overrides everything else that is going on in her gaze at that moment. Seeing her fear instantly throws me into predator mode.

I can feel my body coil, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation from her. But in the back of my head is a calm and cool voice whispering about how if something has happened-to her or a member of our family, that she would not be coming up here by herself. Alfred, Tim, Damian, or Bruce would be right behind her. So I dial back my protective mode and ask her;

"What is it, Raya?"

She sighs and rests her forehead against the door jamb. "I'm a mess."

That makes me squirm a little, I admit it. I _have _been practicing romantic warfare on her since the morning after I proposed to her. But I know that I have to be careful. If I attack to aggressively, she'll balk even more than she is. So, I'm using things I have always done, but just making it more obvious about why I am doing them. For example: I always leave her little notes on her pillow or stuck to her bathroom vanity. Before they were meant to either convey words of encouragement, small reminders, or were just little quips meant to make her laugh. Now I am leaving those same notes with a single red rose (even though Peruvian Lillie's are her favorite) beside them to convey that I love her, am thinking of her. I also tend to text her while she's at work. Usually I am just checking in with her, passing along information relevant to a case we're working or finding out if she wants to do something not related to crime fighting when she gets home. But now I either include lines written by some of her favorite poets, or send her snippets of her favorite love songs. See, I am not doing these things to be a creep. It is just the only way I have to romance her, laid up as I am. That it's seriously screwing her up means the tactic is working. But it doesn't, however, mean that I'm not sorry for putting her through the ringer. I know how hard confronting her feelings is for her. There's twenty-eight years of emotional baggage swirling around in that computer like brain of hers. Which is why I say;

"Then c'mere and we can be a mess together."

I figure she's gonna balk. Make me squirm a little. Work to earn her compliance. When she merely crawls into the bed and tucks her head under my chin without uttering one word of protest I know she's feeling pretty frazzled. _Stubborn woman, _I'm thinking as I fold my arms around her. But yanno what? She's not the only one who is screwed up by this distance she's put between us. I haven't slept well the last few days myself. And this is why. I've grown used to falling asleep with her in my arms, to feeling her breath upon my skin, to feeling her heart beat with mine. When she doesn't say anything for a few minutes I half imagine that she's fallen asleep on me. Be just like the little minx to do that. But then I feel her stir.

"Dick?" her voice is barely a whisper of sound.

"Yes, Rae?"

"I have something that I want to tell you." She lifts her head and I can see the dark mass of memories storming in her gaze. "But I want you to promise me that you will wait to hear the entire story before you ask me any questions. Okay?"

I have a feeling that I know what she is going to tell me. There's only one secret Raya has willfully been keeping from me all these years. That she is going to finally open those pockets and doors and reveal to me the events of this particular mystery can only mean one thing: that she is trying to explain just why she is afraid to accept my proposal.

"I promise to keep all my questions for until after story time is over."

Her lips curve slightly at my small jest. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

She looks like she's about to say something, but is not certain about whatever it is that she wants to say. I smooth my fingers up and down her spine in slow, soothing circles, silently encouraging her to speak when she's ready. Finally she cradles her head upon my chest and says in a soft, but clear voice;

"The first shot wasn't fatal..."

* * *

_Gotham City, the Bistrol District, fourteen years ago..._

The first shot wasn't fatal, so Ellen Rae Kean-Berkeley slowly turned from her attacker, trying to make for the grand staircase and the usual safety of her suite of rooms in the mansions east wing. Raya saw him lift up his arm, saw the glint off the cold metal of his gun. She heard a scream that she did not recognize as her own, then she heard the crack of gunfire; thought she could feel the fiery rip as the 9mm round tore into her mother's frail body. She spun, and there was another shot. Then her mother was falling, collapsing on the small table, upsetting the vase of roses-always red roses- so that they rained down upon her as she fell. With what she had left, she crawled towards the stairs, towards sanctuary, a bloody trail left in her wake.

Raya dropped to her knees beside the broken, battered figure. Her hands slid over that abraded flesh, treating it like the most fragile of porcelain. Just a flutter of gently probing fingers that glided over her mother's flesh, searching and seeking out the worst of the damage. Again her mother tried to move, to push and pull her ravaged body towards the stairs. But Raya pushed her back down, murmured soothing, nonsensical words to her.

Hands fisted desperately in the soft material of her thin cotton t-shirt. "Run!" It came out as little more than a hoarse croak. Then her mother slipped beneath the comforting, dark blanket of unconsciousness. Raya gently cradled her head in her lap in hopes it would reassure her, bring her some small amount of comfort. She angled her head to look at the holes in her chest, blackened around the edges, still seeping blood. Her mother's eyes were closed, her face drained of all color except for the thin line of blood that trickled from the corner of her mouth.

She would live, all the rest of her life she would live with this image of her mother—bleeding and broken at the bottom of the grand staircase as the monster that had done this circled them like a vulture waiting to peck at their carcasses. Even though fear gnawed at her, caused her heart to beat a hard tattoo in her chest, she managed to ignore that shadow threatening to consume her and reached to check the pulse in her mother's throat. It was weak, thready. Her mother was breathing, but it was a raspy gurgle at best.

"Hold on, Mama," she whispered, leaning close. "Just hold on. Grandfather will be here soon to help you."

Her mother's eyes fluttered open, and Raya saw they were glassy with pain.

"Raya-" her mother's voice was barely more than a thick whisper. "Is…too late, baby. Is…too late."

"No." Tears blurred her vision, fell onto her lips. Anger was a dark and tangible mass invading her soul, mixing with the weak salt of her grief and the white hot blaze of her hatred. "Mama, no, it's not. It's not too late. Just hold on. Please, just hold on."

"Sorry... baby..." Her mother shuddered in her arms. "So sorry…"

Desperation surged inside the almost fourteen year old. She prayed as she never prayed before, pleading with every deity she could think of. _She can't die. Please, she can't die. _But it was too late. Raya had never seen death in person before, but she could recognize its cold cruelty. She knew death was imminent by the hoarse clatter of her mother's breath, by the way that her pupils slowly fixed and dilated, and then by the way that she went limp in her arms. She thought she heard the breathing of one last, solitary word: "run…"

And then her mother was gone. Raya stared at the lifeless body in her arms.

"No," she whimpered. Then, louder, "No."

Too late. She was too late. She laid her mother down gently, buried her face in her hands, unable to look at the face that she'd loved, not willing to believe, to accept. Her mother was gone. She was gone and there was nothing left of her but this still-warm, lifeless shell that suddenly wasn't her mother at all. Mind spinning, heart aching, stomach heaving, she pushed to her feet, and slowly turned towards the stairs.

Run her mother had said. Run because the monster would come after you now. Run because she was not yet fourteen-years-old and not strong enough to fight him on her own. Run because there was only one man in all of Gotham that could stand between her and this man: _Batman_. She had only managed to go up two steps when a hand clamped over her arm, held her fast.

"Where do you think you're going, princess?"

The man whose face was inches from hers held the gun he'd just used under her chin. One cheek was badly scratched, as from fingernails scoring the smooth flesh. Both his hair and eyes were the color of dark chocolate. He looked like a modern day James Bond in his evening black, tall and slim, darkly handsome. But this man was nothing like the mythical hero that all little girls believed their daddies to be.

This man was a scoundrel—of the same caliber as the super villains that threatened to consume all of Gotham within their madness. Unlike them though, he hid his predatory nature beneath a carefully crafted mask of polish and sophistication, beneath the vast wealth and social prestige granted him at the time of his birth. She thought about screaming for help. Fear bubbled in her throat, hot and bitter. It closed in the pit of her stomach, hard and cold. But there was _that _look in his eyes, that dead-eyed, empty expression that told her he'd only be too happy to silence her.

She didn't scream.

The sight of her fear had him smiling, a cold, vindictive smile that made Raya's heart pound harder, faster. Seeing it, she struggled for control, for calm. If she wasn't careful, very, very careful, he'd kill her too. Raya knew fear could be primitive, mindless, much like the fear that a gazelle felt when being pursued across the plains by a cheetah. Instinct, however, told her there was more danger inside this one man than in all the predators that lived in the African Savanna. And she knew that there was a time for playing the hero, a time for fear, a time for rolling the dice and taking your chances.

For the moment, Raya bided her time.

"Raya," he said softly, pressing the gun deeper. "I'm only going to ask you this one more time. Where do you think you are going?"

"The laboratory." The lie came so easily, so swiftly, it disgusted her. She hated lies, hated the hurt they could cause and the destruction they wrought. But because the lie had come so easily, and because it carried a ring of truth with it, she went with it. He simply stared at her, seeing the fear in her eyes and none of the hatred that was beneath. He yanked her to him so hard that her breath expelled on a quick hitching gasp.

"Why?"

"Why?" She blinked. "Why what?"

"Why are you going to the laboratory?"

She spoke without thinking—anger and grief and fear loosening her tongue and making her reckless. "That's none of your goddamn business."

"Watch your mouth." He fingered the ends of her hair, causing her stomach to twist into knots. "I'm going to forgive you this one time for your lapse of judgment. I understand you are in shock, and that you're grieving for the tragic death of your mother." The fingers tightened, jerking her head back. "But I will not tolerate backtalk. Understand?"

"You're nothing but a bully." She winced at the pain and struggled to keep her mind clear. "A murderin' psycho-" she said and cried out when he slapped her. Hard.

"I told you to watch your mouth."

He had never struck her before tonight. He'd had no need too so long as he had her mother to knock around. The shock of it caused something dark and dangerous to snap to life inside Raya. To steady herself, she slid a hand into her pocket, keeping her gaze on his empty, soulless ones as she searched for the little squeeze ball she always carried with her. She felt cool stainless steel brush her fingertips instead. Her father reached out to toy with the delicate gold-chain from which dangled a small robin, a present from her best friend.

"Just like your mother I see," he said in a derisive tone. "Found yourself a dirty little gypsy and let him put his fumbling, thieving hands all over you. And all for what?" His laugh was cold, cruel. "This cheap trinket?"

_Dick. _It was her first clear thought. Clear enough that it had fury swimming inside her. She slapped his hand away.

"You are not fit to even _speak_ Richard Grayson's name."

She saw him smile, almost pleasantly, and felt cold dread course through her.

"You need to be reminded about your place, princess."

"And how will you do that, _father_? By killing me as you did my mother? Go ahead." It was a dangerous taunt. But what was inside Raya was past the point of caring. Bubbled and burned with its desire for vengeance. "Neither the Berkeley fortune or name will keep you from going to Blackgate for a double homicide."

"Oh, there are other ways to ensure that you mind your manners, Raya."

There was something almost reasonable in her father's voice, something sane beneath the madness. Almost as if he believed that he was going to get away with abusing her as he had her mother. _Like hell, _she thought, gripping the handle of the thin blade in her fist. She'd see him dead first.

"I'll tell," she swore. "I swear that I will tell if you lay so much as one finger upon me."

"Really?" he drolled. "And who would believe a stupid little bitch like you?"

"Batman!" she snarled as she plunged the blade into the side of his throat. Blood spurting, howling with rage and pain, he jumped back. As he reached for the handle of the blade, Raya picked up the porcelain vase next to the stairs and swung it with all the force she had. There was a crash, a grunt, then a thud. She didn't look to see how deep she'd driven the scalpel or whether he was still conscious or not.

She ran…


	4. Healing

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one and that you had a great Halloween. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply appreciated!

* * *

_Cont_...

The night was blind in the absence of the moon. Raya tore through air that was so cold that it felt like shards of ice sticking in her throat. Her father's primal scream ripped through the silence and gave her feet wings upon which to take flight. She sped down the winding driveway with its row of elegant old oak trees, leapt over small bushes like a gazelle, and sprinted across the estate's verdant lawn like a cheetah. She roared out of the huge iron gates onto the main road, sliding upon the thin sheet of ice that coated the asphalt. But she did not slow down. She couldn't risk slowing down. If she did it would be her end. She righted herself and took off down the softly illuminated street, cutting across the snow covered lawns of houses that glowed with warmth and vitality. Every shadow became the monster who'd gunned her mother down in cold blood. She had to keep telling herself over and over that it was nothing but a trick of her mind.

_Just get to the Manor_, a voice whispered to her. _Just get to the Manor and to Bruce. You'll be safe with him_.

She obeyed the voice because she knew it spoke the truth. Matthew Berkeley could not afford to challenge a man like Bruce Wayne. It'd be social ruin for him if he did. And there was an even greater need now for him to maintain his mask, to uphold the social image he'd been projecting all these years than there ever was. Even Gotham high society would not overlook his having murdered his wife. But while he could not come for her while she was sheltered and protected by Gotham's wayward son, it did not mean that he would allow her to simply get away with stabbing him, either. Oh no. If there was one thing that she'd learned in all her years of living with her father, it was that there were ways to hurt people without physically touching them.

She could hear the roar of an engine coming up behind her. Close, so close. She prayed with every beat of her heart that her endurance would hold out. Her breath was tattered by fear, but her heart's beat was a steady and determined rhythm. A dog leapt out at her from behind a thick steel fence, yapping shrilly. She shrieked and leapt back, tripping over a garden gnome. She stumbled, nearly went down, but righted herself at the last second. She turned to again take flight, but her body slammed into the solid hardness of another. The impact sent her sprawling on the snow covered ground, knocked her breath out in a _whoosh_ and had her adrenaline pumping. She rolled, lashed out with one fist, her only thought that she would not be captured, that she would not be returned to her ancestral home, that she was not going to become her father's next victim.

Strong hands grabbed her, yanked her to her feet and held her fast. She fought like a hellcat, tearing herself free and lashing out with her fists and bare feet. Her legs were swept out from beneath her and she hit the ground, immediately rolling and reaching for the gnome she'd stumbled over a few seconds before. She grabbed the gnome in hands still coated in the sticky gore of her parents, went to swing it, but froze when she heard a familiar voice growl at her to; "Stop!"

More than relief rippled through her when she turned and spied the familiar figure clad in the black body armor standing over her, his scalloped cape fluttering in the breeze, the pointy ears of his cowl ominous in the twilight surrounding him. Here was the longed for guardian that would offer her both sanctuary and comfort. Even with fear and grief gnawing away at her, she was overjoyed at seeing that it was _him_ that found her.

_Run_ her mother had told her in her final, dying breath. And Raya was wise enough to know exactly what her mother meant. _Run_ because your father is going to come after you now. _Run_ because you're not even fourteen-years-old and certainly not old enough to face this world alone. _Run_ because this is the only man in all of Gotham who can stand between you and your father. _Run_ because next to your uncle, this is the only man who has never failed you. _Run_ because this is the only man who can help you to understand just why I was so cruelly taken from you.

_Run_.

She felt her lower lip begin to quiver and bit down on it until she tasted the coppery sweetness of her own blood in her mouth. He knelt and cupped her chin in his fingers. Fingers that she knew were capable of delivering bone-crushing punishment to a handful of thugs, but which were soft as feather down as they gripped her flesh and lifted her face up.

"Raya?" he asked. "What is it?"

She saw that his eyes were bright with a storm of unasked questions and emotions. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a low keening wail. She gave him a second to prepare himself before she launched herself into his arms. She felt more than heard his low rumble of concern, of surprise. But the dam had broken the moment he touched her. She burrowed against the rock hard solidness of him, quaking with the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown her. Pain, shock, fear, fury, joy, all so intense, all at once, that she was dizzy from them. It was one stunning emotion, all slamming into each other, leaving her weak and trembling.

And all more than her young mind could handle.

_Twelve_ years. She'd lived in that opulent prison her entire life, been born there in fact. She'd spent twelve of her nearly fourteen years living in nothing short of abject terror and misery. Every night had become a new nightmare and every morning coated in fresh blood and tears. She'd become a pro at suturing by age six and learned how to set a broken bone by the time she was eight. Skills no kid needed but which were mandatory in a house ripped apart by violence. The Berkeley Estate was a house which was cloaked in a dark web of never ending secrets and lies.

"Talk to me, Raya." He coaxed in a gentle voice when she remained silent. "Tell me what happened."

"She's dead." The words came out as barely a whisper. But she knew he heard them by the way that his body went taut as razor wire. She half expected him to dump her back on the ground and rise to pace, much like a predator waiting to be freed from his chains and told to _hunt_. But then his arms, as well as the folds of his voluminous cape wound around her, offering the solace and security that was desperately needed but which she'd been to ashamed and afraid to verbally ask for.

"Can you tell me who she is?" the words weren't quite his customary growl. But they carried enough steel to cause a shiver to dance along her spine. "Do you know her name?"

Of course he would not think it was her own mother that she was talking about. Who in their right mind would automatically think that that was the person about whom she spoke? Even for a man like him- who had witnessed one of the worst atrocities imaginable when he'd seen his own parents murdered- the thought of it being her mother's blood coating her hands and clothing was still a foreign one.

"M..mmy..." she swallowed around the lump in her throat. And tucked her head beneath his chin. "M..my mother is dead."

She felt his chest rise and fall with his sharply indrawn breath.

"How did your mother die?" he asked.

"He shot her." Her whisper was a moist hiss against his throat. "He shot her and he killed her."

"Who shot her?" His hand ran over the cap of her hair. "Tell me."

She knew that tone- knew that _tell me_ really meant _I want to know who it is that hurt you so that I can hurt them back_. And that was fine. That was perfect. She wanted _Batman_ to hurt her father. She wanted him to make him pay for all the wrongs he'd committed, for all the people that he'd hurt, for the woman that he'd murdered. But it was not so easy to unlock the door upon a lifetime of secrets and lies. It took every ounce of what little will that was not buried beneath a mountain of fear to say;

"My father..." the words came out weak and thready. She sucked in a deep breath, hammered back the fear and cooled the rage simmering in her heart. "My father shot her. He killed her."

He did not ask just how she knew that it was her father who'd shot her mother. Nor did he ask her if she was one hundred percent sure that her mother was dead. He simply accepted what she told him as fact, believed what she said to be the unadulterated truth, and cradled her more tightly in his arms because of it. But his body had not lost that earlier coiled, leashed animal quality.

It was then that Raya realized one thing about her dark guardian: that there were two sides of him. There was the side that was the dark vigilante- the seeker of justice who wanted to deliver vengeance for the persecuted- and then there was the parent-the father who wanted to protect and shelter those who came into his care. And those two sides were in a conflict over what they wanted-what they needed to do at that exact moment.

Batman needed to send her on up to the Manor because he wanted to go after the man who was responsible not only for her mother's death, but for the pain he'd caused her specifically.

But Bruce Wayne wanted to stay because he needed to be the parent that she desperately needed at that moment. She knew that it was Bruce who won when his cheek settled against the top of her head.

"Come on, kiddo," he said gently. "Let's get you home and cleaned up."

But _home_ for Raya was the Estate that was situated a mile North of Wayne Manor and twenty miles outside Gotham City. Just thinking about returning to her familial estate was enough to have panic and dread churning with nausea in her belly. Even as she tried to make herself breathe slowly and steadily, the air whistled in her lungs, clogged there until she was gulping for it. Sweat ran cold and clammy upon her feverish skin, and she could smell her own escalating fear. The edges of her vision blurred and she half expected to see her father coming out of the darkness towards her. Her fingers clenched in the folds of his cape, seeking strength as she forced herself to breathe in and out.

"Please, Bruce...I cannot go back there!" She pleaded through the bands of terror tightening around her chest, tightening around her head. Tightening, tightening. Until she thought she was going to pass out from the pain. "_Please_! He'll ki..."

"Shh," he crooned softly. If he was surprised that she knew his secret, it did not show. The only thing that showed upon the parts of his face visible beneath the cowl was a bone deep weariness and sadness that she understood far too well. "I'm not going to take you back to your family Estate. I'm taking you home."

"I don't have a home." She whispered in a fractured voice.

"Raya." Bruce smoothed a finger over her ice cold cheek. "You have always had a home with your uncle Jim and Barbara." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "And you have a home with me and Dick and Alfred as well."

"Really?" She sniffled.

"Really."

Tears welled and began to fall. Bruce merely enfolded her in his arms, murmuring quietly as he let her weep out her shattered heart.


	5. Fatherly perspective

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome! Please, if you like this story, click the follow button. Also, reviews are deeply appreciated!

**S/N:** Okay, the first person was not working here. So we'll change it and see if that improves things!

* * *

_I_ _was never surprised that she knew about my being Batman,_ Bruce thought while listening to her accounting of the night he brought her here to the Manor. _Raya is not, and has never been, stupid._ The only thing that ever amazed him about her knowing his secret identity was in how well she'd managed to keep her knowledge of it from everyone- including him. But she'd been taught the art of secrecy and lies almost from the cradle. Her early childhood experiences were what had taught her her uncanny ability to read a face fast and remember it. It was a skill that had served her well, saving her life as well as the lives of his boys' on more than a few occasions. It was the first lesson that she learned, and the last one that he knew would be forgotten.

Thirteen years worth of abuse was not something that could be easily erased.

Bruce had come to realize that there were two very distinct sides of him the night she'd fled her familial home. There was the side that was the Batman- the vigilante that fought for the innocent. But then there was Bruce Wayne-the parent that wanted to protect and shelter those who came into his care. Those two sides had been in a conflict over what they wanted-what they _needed_ to do at that moment.

* * *

_Wayne Manor, fourteen years ago..._

It was still dark when Bruce crept into the entertainment room on silent feet in order to check upon the two figures stretched out upon the huge sectional situated in the middle of the room. The Manor may have been swamped in shadows, but he had no trouble navigating the sea of furniture in the pre-dawn light. He looked down at the duo who were laying there, fast asleep. Dick's arm was curved protectively around Raya, who was sleeping with her head cradled on his shoulder, her hand resting upon his chest.

It was an affectionate and sweetly innocent embrace. One which was desperately needed after the traumatic events of the evening. He saw she was resting quietly at the moment, but that was all she was doing. His heart constricted at the sight of the raw pain and sorrow that was etched into that young face. Even sleep would offer her no solace from her memories. As he well knew.

"Demons are now going to haunt her," Bruce said to the figure that was standing silent as a shadow in the entryway. "They will never stop haunting her. But do you know what kills me the most, Alfred?" He glanced over at the butler. "Knowing that she has been suffering in silence for years and never so much as breathed a word of it to anyone. Not even Dick. And she shares everything with him."

"Not talking about the abuse," Alfred said gently. "Made the abuse seem less real. And I imagine that why she never told Master Richard about it was because she was trying to protect the image of family that the boy has."

He reached out a hand that was not quite steady and tucked a dark curl behind her ear. She was so unlike Dick, he thought. Dick had never had to doubt that John and Mary Grayson loved him, wanted him. Even his own parents had ensured that he knew how much he was loved and wanted. But Raya was never given that assurance, or shown that kind of love and affection by either one of her parents.

"How do I help her, Alfred? She's so very different from Dick."

"Be for Miss Raya what you are for Master Richard." Was the sighed suggestion. "Show her how to rise above her fear and combat her demons. Teach her how to temper anger with compassion, hatred with justice. Give her a greater sense of there being consequences in this world and that she can do something to protect others from suffering what she has."

Bruce glanced at the older man. "She needs a _parent_ more than she needs a _mentor_, Alfred."

"She needs Bruce Wayne as much as she needs Batman, sir."

Bruce shook his head. "She needs a stable home environment and the familiarity and comfort of the people that she loves and trusts so she can begin to heal from the damage that's been inflicted more then she needs to be given another mask."

"Master Bruce," Alfred said smartly. "Miss Raya has not yet allowed herself to feel the anger simmering just below the surface. Without a hand to show her how to direct the flow of that rage, she could falter and go down a very dark road."

_A dark road that I, myself, nearly went down_, was Bruce's silent thought. The emotions that surged within him for what lay ahead for this small girl were raw and powerful. And very near to snapping even his legendary control. It was only with with an extreme amount of effort that he refrained from driving to the Berkeley Estate and beating her father to a bloody pulp.

"Jim thinks that it is best that she remain here at the Manor for the time being." He turned to look at Alfred. "His feeling is that she is much safer here with us then she would be with him."

"Lieutenant Gordon knows that Matthew Berkeley will come after her," Alfred said with a nod. "And that he will attempt to take her back only to ensure her silence about his wife's murder."

"She's mine now." The words were uttered in the familiar raspy growl that he used when wearing the infamous cape and cowl. "He'll have to go through _me_ to get to her."

"If you truly wish to protect Miss Raya?" Alfred said as he slowly turned away. "Then teach her, Master Bruce. Teach her and love her. That is what she needs most right now."

_Teach her_, Alfred said. _Teach her and love her_. He had deep reservations about the first one, but most certainly not the other. He loved both of his sleeping children. And he'd do whatever he had to in order to keep them safe. He glanced down at them once more before he turned and made his way from the room.

* * *

As much as he loved both of his children, as much as he wanted them to find the love and happiness that was absent from his own life, Bruce was still concerned about them moving into a relationship. He knew full well that _superheroes_ and _relationships_ did not mix well together. Especially here in Gotham where more often than not a superheroes significant other was used as the starting point for an enemy to gain vengeance upon his nemesis. And they both had a fair share of villanious enemies who would think nothing of kidnapping or killing the other in order to pay them back.

With his heart and mind heavy, Bruce exited into the main hallway and spied a small figure seated upon a the grand staircase. That it could only be his youngest son, and the current Robin, was abundantly clear from the shock of black hair framing a face that looked exactly like his did at that age. Even with the oak banister obscuring a majority of his face, Bruce could still see that storm clouds were brewing in his oceanic eyes. _That's not a good sign, _was his silent thought_._

"What's the matter, Damian?" He asked.

Those eyes shift, pin him; burn with youthful impatience and aggravation. Bruce briefly wondered if that was what he was like at Damian's age. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Alfred's said one word in response: _yes_.

"Nothing's the matter," he says mulishly.

Bruce knew that that wasn't true. "Then why are you sitting out here on the stairs?" he asked while sitting next to him on the stairs.

"'Cause I'm waiting for when Raya finally decides to do the smart thing and say yes to Dick's marriage proposal."

_Aha_, is Bruce's initial thought. If there was anyone in their family who'd like to see Dick and Raya marry, it was Damian Wayne. That his youngest son openly and honestly cared for the older superheroes was clear. That he wanted them to be happy was understandable. Bruce wanted them to be happy as well. But the parent in him told him that he needed to prepare his son for if the outcome was not the one that he wanted it to be.

"It's not so easy for Raya to just say yes." He said. "Their relationship is not a nor..."

"She's just scared," Damian says flatly.

Bruce gave a nod. "Yes, she is scared. But Damian." He set a hand upon his shoulder. "She's got a reason for her fears."

He scoffs. "It's not like she's _afraid_ of Dick." His eyebrows drew together into a pensive scowl that had Bruce's lips twitching. "It's becoming like her father that she's most afraid of. Which is absolutely the most stupidest thing that I have ever heard that woman think or say." He snorts while he shakes his head. "As if she's capable of being like Matthew Berkeley. She's not an abusive narcissist with rage and compulsion issues for one. And she has _your_ ideals for another."

Bruce's eyebrows show up at that heated proclamation. He tended to forget that Damian had a greater perceptual depth than most boys his age. It tended to serve him well in his role as Robin. _He's right, Raya does possess my greater ideals about justice, consequences and commitment to protecting the innocent_.

"You're right," I say. "It's not in her nature to be her fath..."

"_You're_ her father," he cut in with a modicum of tempered steel in his tone. "You and Commissioner Gordon."

Bruce squeezed his shoulder. "Yes, we are." He agreed softly. "But the lessons that she learned at Matthew Berkeley's hands are just as firmly ingrained in her mind as the ones she learned from ours. And his lessons are what she's struggling now to forget."

"She loves Dick," he points out.

"Yes," Bruce says slowly. "She does love him."

"And he loves her."

Bruce could feel his lips trembling with the need to smile. "Yes, he does."

"So, isn't that enough?"

"That's exactly what she's asking herself, Damian."

He sighed and dropped his chin onto his bent knees. "If Grayson screws this up by letting her _think_ I will zap him with a bolt of electricity from one of his escrima sticks."

Not for one minute did Bruce doubt that his youngest son did not mean to carry out that threat. Bruce Wayne knew his youngest son as well as he knew his oldest one. And he knew that when Damian Wayne decided on a course of action that there was nothing, not even Batman, that would deter him.

Bruce almost wanted to go and warn his oldest son about his brother's promise.

_Almost_.


	6. Heart to Heart

**A/N:** Hello m'dears… I hope that the week has been a good one to you. To all those who have hit the favorite/follow/review buttons I am deeply grateful! To all new followers, welcome!

**S/N:** The flashback scene in this chapter is from the first story in my particular arc: **Batman & Robin: Past Revisited**.

* * *

_Way ta go, Grayson_, is my first thought after she falls silent. _Shoulda just given her a vial of blood ya prick. It mighta been less painful than those red roses you left her_. Oh, yea, I'm totally cringing over what a thoughtlessly stupid bastard I am. I seriously should have known the reason for why her favorite flowers are Peruvian Lilies. Or at least suspected that it was related to her mother and father. But while I am mentally kicking my own ass for what an unimaginable jerk that I was to her this week, I hear her say;

"I watched him abuse her, for thirteen years, I watched his cruelty. I was there, with her, through every hurt he inflicted. Not just the slaps or the punches. Those kinds of cuts, those types of bruises don't last. But there are other kinds of wounds that never heal, no matter how much time passes."

She lets out a little breath and trails her fingers over the scar from where her father shot me eight years ago. It's another memory that we share, and the one which ultimately links us together. What her father did that night, the actions that he'd chose in order to get revenge upon his only daughter? They kept us apart for _five_ years. Why? Because Raya chose to exile herself from me since she saw no other way in which to protect me from her father's wrath. Yes, that's the kind of woman that she is. And no, she won't get away with leaving me again.

"Matthew Berkeley systematically and cruelly ripped away my innocence, my self-confidence, my self-esteem, and my ability to trust, and he did it before I even knew what most of those things were. It's not easy to rebuild those things once they've been taken from you. I have only regained some of those things because I had you and Bruce and Uncle Jim and Alfred there to help me find them."

"Why'd you never tell me about what was going on at home, Rae?" I ask in a whisper fractured by the jumble of emotions doing cartwheels inside me. "Is it because you thought that I wouldn't understand?"

"Dick, there are days where _I_ don't understand." She lifts her head to look at me and I can see that her eyes are red rimmed and puffy from crying. I burn with the ache to erase the memories I see swirling within that gaze. There's nothing I'd like to do more than lift that quiet sorrow that's dogged her for her entire life. If it takes me the rest of my life I am going to replace every one of the dark caverns inside her with light. "Here I am trained specifically in how to counsel the victims of domestic violence and I can't begin to understand or explain just when or how this cycle of violence began in my own family. Abuse is not a common thread on either the Kean or Berkeley side of my family."

"You know that it is harder to apply the theories to your own life and circumstances." I draw her down until her head is cradled on my shoulder. "How did your Mom end up with a man like your father, though?" I ask while I pull a blanket up over us. Let her slink off after she's ripped open pockets and doors that she's kept sealed shut for over a decade? Don't think so. "And why did she stay when things turned abusive?"

"I really don't know how she ended up with my father." Came her soft reply. "Quite honestly, my mother and father were incompatible as a couple. My mother came from a solid, steady family, as functional as any family really. She was educated, independent, helping to run a profitable dress shop in Gotham Square. Auntie Barbara once told me that there'd been a few men in my mother's life before she met my father, nothing that was serious, but all nice, normal and healthy relationships. She was the exact opposite of the type of woman that Matthew Berkeley wanted; desired. And yet she became the wife of an ogre. Of course," she says with a small nasty nip in her tone. "I know why she chose to marry him…"

"Are you ready to talk about this, Raya? I mean, you've already told me the worst part of the story, but are you really ready to talk about the rest of it?"

"I told you about the ugliest part." Her hand moves to the middle of my chest, curls there. That's where her hand belongs for the record. Why? Because for nearly two decades this woman has been the keeper of my heart and my secrets. "But it's not anywhere close to the worst part of the tale, Dick."

"You mean there's a part worse than this?"

"Yes."

"Alright," I blow out a breath. "Tell me."

"I'm not going into the details of what happened." She tilts her head closer to mine, resting her forehead against my temple. "I don't want them intruding or tainting the image you have of your parents." Her sigh ruffles my hair. "What I will tell you is that the Berkeley Estate was the most opulent pit of hell. A chrome and crystal prison that got deeper and colder and harder to escape from."

"Why are you shielding me from this side of your life, Rae?" I ask her gently. "Do you think that whatever it is that you tell me about your childhood is going to make me think less of you? Love you any less than I do?"

That broke her rhythm. For a moment she can only look at me, clearly baffled. "I don't know. Maybe."

"It's about time that you realize that nothing you tell me is going to make me feel any differently about you." I say it easily even though there's a well of temper swirling around inside me, dregs of it for Raya's mother, but the majority of it for the man-the sick and twisted son of a bitch- who'd scarred her. "Why did your mother never send you away? I'm sure Commissioner Gordon would have happily taken you in."

"My mother needed someone to protect her from him..."

Now _that_ annoys me. "_You_ were a little girl," I say hotly. "_You_ shouldn't have been the one protecting _her_."

"You're right," she said. "I shouldn't have been the one protecting her. But what else was I supposed to do, Dick? She was my _mother_. And there was nobody else there who could, or would help."

I shift my head to look at her; say in a firm voice, "ya coulda told me. Or Bruce. _We_ would have helped you. We'd have gotten you away from your father. Gotten you both some help and protected you _both _from him."

"She wouldna left, Dick."

"What do you mean she wouldna left?"

"She would not leave my father, Dick. No matter how bad the abuse got she would not leave him." Grief and anger caught her by the throat, choked off her voice and opened wounds I knew were still raw. "She enjoyed the prestige of being Mrs. Matthew Berkeley Sr. far more than she cared for either hers, or my safety." I hear the bitterness, can see it reflected in those jeweled depths. "There was nothing more important to her than maintaining her glamorous lifestyle."

"But..." I stammer. "Why make you live in that hell? Why not allow you to move in with your aunt and uncle?"

"They asked the same question after their every offer to take me was rejected."

"Gordon knew about the abuse." It was not phrased as a question because I already knew the answer. I just cannot believe that Commissioner James Gordon had known about what was going on in the Berkeley household and neither said, nor done anything about it.

"He knew," she says on a long, drawn out sigh. "And could do nothing about it. My father's name and fortune prevented him from doing anything. And without my mother willing to testify that the abuse was occurring he couldn't make a case."

"And she refused to press charges." My earlier swirl of temper becomes a low conflagration-this time for the woman who'd so failed her daughter.

"As far as Ellen Rae Kean-Berkeley was concerned," an echo of a deep-seeded resentment throbs in her voice; on her face. "Wealth and social prestige were worth the little _slaps._" The last is sneered in a tone that conveys just how angry and hurt my Rae is at her mother. But she'll never admit that she's as angry at her as she is at her father. "It wasn't until the night that he shot her that she realized the price she'd actually paid to be _rich._"

That night was also when her mother finally stepped up and became the _mom_ that her daughter needed her to be. Suddenly, the night that Matthew Berkeley held Damian hostage at their familial estate makes all the sense in the world to me. See, I knew her desire for confronting her father was about obtaining justice for her mother and taking back a piece of what her father had stolen from her. And I knew some of it was because she needed to undo the mistakes she made the night Berkeley shot me. But now I realize that that night it was also about something else. Or I should say it's about _someone _else.

And just who is that someone, you ask?

Why, it's our baby birdie, Damian of course. See, Damian Wayne means the world to this woman. Everybody under the sun oughta know that by now. And if they don't… well, they've either not been paying attention or living under a rock. The people who have been paying attention know about the very tight bond that exists between Raya and Damian. And most of them know that bond began while Bruce was lost in Darkseid's _time continuum_. But what most of them don't know is _why_ she feels as strongly for him as she does. But I know it's because Raya stepped up and became Damian's _mom _during Bruce's absence. She is still more like his mom, than his sister actually. And that night at her childhood home, Matthew Berkeley was not just holding her baby bird hostage; he'd physically _abused_ him as well. And that, I realize now, can only that there was only one question that woulda been in Raya's mind at the time:

Would she do what a _mom_ needed to do, or what her _mother_ would have chosen to do?

* * *

_The Berkeley Estate_  
_Two years before the _**Asylum Incident**_..._  
_During the events of _**Batman & Robin: Past Revisited**_._

"Either let me go now," Damian growled. "Or when I get free know that I will systematically take you apart, piece by piece. I will stick that kunai in your neck, in your thigh, in your stomach." His eyes narrowed to thin blue slits. "And I _will_ stand over you and watch as you bleed to death."

Berkeley's face drained of all color. His hand trembled upon the handle of the knife. And there was a twitch of something-fear? that shimmered underneath the liquid damnation of his madness.

"You won't kill me, little Robin." He spoke with a confidence that was undermined by the tremor to his voice. "See, my daughter won't let you kill me."

"I am not asking her her permission."

Matthew visibly swallowed, and his eyes shifted nervously between the boy in his grasp and the woman standing silent in front of him, silently contemplative. Then he smiled, a slow and slippery smile that was chalk full of predatory arrogance. "My dear boy," he said cockily. "My daughter wants me alive so she can lock me in a prison cell for the rest of my life. Killing me denies her that pleasure."

"What you've always failed to realize father," Raya's voice was calm as a midsummer's rain. "Is that at no point in time do I have to _choose_ to save you."

Berkeley's breath was expelled in one long and moist serpentine hiss at the implication in her tone. Dick read the maniacal intent in his eyes at the same time that Tim and Raya did. He was reaching for a batarang in the second that it took Berkeley to lift up his arm. The light glinted off the cold metal as it came slashing down, spelling death as it rent through time and space on its way to its intended destination within the chest of the helpless Robin. He let the batarang fly; saw out of the corner of his eye that Tim had let one of his new throwing disks fly at the same moment. Both of the projectiles sang as they tumbled end over end through the air. But the masked men knew that neither was going to arrive in time to stop the events that were slowly unfolding with every second that ticked by on the clock.

They were forced to do no more then stand there and helplessly watch as Raya curled her fingers into the nylon threads that held Robin immobile and yank the boy to her, twisting to the side in the same moment that smaller figure toppled against her. Dick's heart slammed against his chest as he watched that blade rip through her flesh rather than plung into the boy's chest, the surprising bite of the pain eliciting a soft shriek that rocked him forward even as she went down to one knee. Berkeley laughed, one high keening sound of triumph before he lifted the knife again. But the batarang and emblem slammed into the back of his head before he could bring the blade down, knocking him face down on the floor and stunning him. The gore splattered knife skittered harmlessly across the wood floor, bouncing against the tip of Robin's boot and remaining there. Dick saw Damian tilt his head to look at it, his eyes and face a mask of disgust, anger and shock. But his immediate concern was for the woman kneeling upon the ground. He rushed towards her, calling her name, but she merely lifted her head, gave him a reassuring look and said in a voice fractured by pain;

"Just get my father into restraints. I don't want him escaping now that we've finally got the son of a bitch."

Dick knew she'd never admit that the pain was like teeth gnawing at her shoulder. Blood was pouring down her arm, coating her hand and seeping into Damian's tunic. But her eyes, he realized, were filled with the kind of relief that only came after one finally saw a nightmare come to an end.

"Stay with her," he said to Damian. "Commissioner Gordon will be here in two minutes to Mirandize Berkeley. Then I want you _both_ going to the bunker and getting checked out."

"Alright." Damian lifted his head, mumbled that single, solitary word while he keeping his eyes glued upon the ones burning within the eye sockets of the cowl.

Dick saw Damian's uncertainty and hurt and took a moment to silently reassure the boy by setting his hand upon his shoulder. When Damian nodded his understanding, he then turned to stalk towards where Berkeley was just stirring, taking out a set of restraints from his utility belt as he went. He needed to do this, he told himself, and he needed Raya to _let_ him do this. He bent and grasped Berkeley by his shirt front, yanking the man up until they were nearly nose-to-nose.

Berkeley coughed and chuckled tonelessly. "I only regret that I aimed for the boy and not my whore daughter."

"You come near her or Robin again," Dick growled. "And I will break you in two."

"So tell me, Batman," Berkeley said derisively. "Is my daughter still spreading her legs for that nasty little birdie that you used to run around with?" His laugh was cold, cruel. "Or has she finally sunk her claws into the big black Bat?"

Dick's answer was a jaw-breaking punch to the man's sneering face.


End file.
